


lover

by thestarsaregivenonceonly



Category: Timmy Chalamet, Timothée Chalamet - Fandom, tim chalamet
Genre: F/M, timothee blurb, timothee chalamet blurb, timothee chalamet imagine, timothee imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 22:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21144002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsaregivenonceonly/pseuds/thestarsaregivenonceonly
Summary: Anonymous asked:Hiii Jen! I was just listening to Lover by Taylor swift and it made me cry ahhhh Since you love song blurbs i wouldn’t ask anyone else to write one about it thanks if you decide to do it 💗💗





	lover

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr same username xx

no one but you knew what he looked like in the light of the refrigerator at 3 in the morning. the light itself wasn’t flattering, but there was something about it, even if it was artificial. he looked intimate, caught in a moment of humanity, awake and hungry during the night. and no one else knew, no one but you, leaning on the doorframe in his t-shirt and watching him dig around for a snack. the skyline around him flashing through the windows, his hair sticking out, pants hanging off of thin hips. his eyes were never all the way open — he looked almost high, in fact, half awake, and it was one of the most beautiful things about him. but just the idea, knowing that you knew this person that no one else did… it was a rush. every night that he wanted a snack, you insisted he wake you. he argued at first, what, no, you need sleep, are you nuts? i’m nuts about you, and i like to be with you when you’re up during the night. you felt that once it had happened a few times, there was no need to explain. he understood. a quiet safe haven, a time and place that felt out of proper existence. nowhere to be, no one to text, call, or email… no flight to catch, not until later. just you, Tim, a cold, tiled floor, and the sickly warm light of the fridge as he stuck his curly head inside.

no one but you knew how fucking horrendous he looked when he got sick. so pale, paler than you’d ever thought possible. his nose would get so red, frosty the snowman, a fever to break the records. his eyes betrayed his suffering, though he shook his head and coughed his way through sentences. the face he made, that expression of relief, excitement, hunger, need… he had this expression, a specific one, when you made him chicken noodle soup when he got sick. like a child, so happy to be cared for, loved. he would fall asleep in your lap, both of you covered in tissues. when he no longer coughed during the night, you found you could sleep peacefully again. not the sound, but the worry.

no one but you knew his shower routine. he liked to take his time, use his favorite wash, listen to specific songs. it was a ritual, a constant he could hold onto for familiarity and comfort. his showers with you were a little different, lasting longer, any music. but it was strangely special to hear a certain song from outside the room and know he was about to sing into the conditioner bottle on a very specific line before squeezing actual conditioner into his hand. did anybody else know that? you were almost 100% they didn’t. maybe pauline, if she had the unpleasant luck to have walked in on him too many times.

no one but you knew what he was like on his days off, especially in the mornings. he knew that he had you all to himself, and he made sure you knew it too. whether you cuddled and talked for hours, made breakfast, slept in, made love, it didn’t matter… he was always so ecstatic to just be with you. a random kiss to the cheek, the neck, the palm of your hand - i’m just so happy you’re here, i have to kiss you. no one but you knew what his mouth felt like, sometimes chapped no matter how many chapstick tubes you offered, warm and heavenly - it made you strangely nostalgic especially when he kissed the back of your hand, as if you had done it in another time or place. maybe just because it was old-fashioned? you weren’t sure, but it was an intense feeling, radiating from your chest like hot rays of sunlight. it made your breathing quicken and your knees buckle.

no one but you knew the shape of his calves by heart, the taste of his skin, the sounds that he made, the way his breathing sped up right before he reached his climax. he was so passionate and enthusiastic in bed, and the way he’d say your name, it was bells ringing, fireworks exploding, suns rising. when you were finished, he would nuzzle his nose into your neck and breathe you in, often not moving for a long time. your fingers found his mess of curls, running through them and massaging the top of his head. he’d squeeze you close, snuggling harder, a kiss to your shoulder. nine times out of ten he’d fall asleep there, his breath slow and hot on your neck. he had a strange habit of sleeping only for a short time though, sitting up and stretching, and after a while you’d rise to use the bathroom.

no one but you knew his darkest moments, saw his self doubt and anxiety clearly. only you, he let only you in that deeply, allowing you to hold him when he cried. his frustration and need to hold a certain standard for himself hurt your heart - he was perfect in your eyes, even though he wasn’t at all. you held him when he won awards, lost awards… when he wasn’t nominated or considered at all. 

and yet… no one but Tim knew when you had your darkest moments, wiping your tears, holding your hand, standing with you, a lion heart. he knew what to say, but not always, and neither did you. cooking for you, rubbing your back, whispers in your ear, i’ve got you my girl, i’m never letting go.

no one but Tim knew how self conscious you were of your stomach, the size of your thighs, the shape of your nose. he liked to help you look for clothes, enthusiastically suggesting things he thought would look good and nodding emphatically as you tried on different pieces. no matter how you felt, he supported you, kissing your nose, a soft voice in the dark telling you to relax your tummy and not suck it in. he’d help you wash in the shower, sweet nothings in the ear, i love every curve and shape of you. when you lost weight he was proud of you, encouraging your choices, kissing your face. when you gained weight he was loving and tender, more physical and hands on, no matter what, no matter what, i’ll always want you.

no one but tim knew how to cook your favorite dishes (he had the recipes memorized), what kind of toothpaste you used, the music you cleaned to, the nightmares you had. a particular one, repetitive and panic-inducing, plagued you for months, though it wasn’t particularly often. he’d wake from your thrashing and gently sooth you to consciousness, immediately going off into stories that would make you laugh. anything ranging from on sets with saoirse to a toy he had when he was a child, there were so many layers to him that you hadn’t even touched. he knew which mario character to pick for you, which patterns you hated on clothing, the exact order of your ice cream cone. he knew when you needed him. he knew when you didn’t.

no one but Tim knew what you looked like in the middle of the night, curled against him in bed, the both of you naked and bare. to face you, his back was to the window, the lights outside darkening his face and neck. a specific tower outside blinked constantly, a gentle white light. if in the perfect position, it would flash light on your shoulder, a sight that mesmerized him every single time. he would speak to the light, watch it, a glance to your eyes here and there. one night, drunk and infatuated, he broke from your lips to loudly declare that it was a light from heaven pointing at you, her, her, her. she’s it, baby.

no one but Tim knew how to touch you. his hands were magnetic and magical, moving perfectly along your figure as if they were made for nothing else. even when he was simply rubbing your back, a kiss to the ear, pushing your hair from your eyes - it left you in awe, not understanding, how can he know? meant to be, meant to touch you. he could find your climax in two minutes or less if he wanted to… or, if he wanted to make it last, he would. he knew every button by heart and the exact order in which to press them.

no one but tim knew what you looked like in the light of the refrigerator at 3 in the morning. the way his shirt would fall off your shoulder, your hair messy, your eyes shining with exhaustion and love. he’d sometimes share his snack, pushing his hair down and running stray fingertips down your bare thigh. the safe haven you’d never known, somehow a happy place shared with another human. down to the last detail.


End file.
